


Glass Houses

by BeesAreBest



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Blight, Elves, Evanuris, F/F, F/M, Immortality, Magic, Post-Series, Post-Trespasser, Romance, The Veil, ancient elves - Freeform, eluvian - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-11 11:46:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7049155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeesAreBest/pseuds/BeesAreBest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The fight is never over and the circumstances never change. He's a liar full of world-changing secrets and she is a savior with shoulders too small to bear the burden alone. But Lavellan does not yield and Solas does not falter and both must learn how to fix yet another one of his vast mistakes. This is not a world either of them wanted. </p><p>Post-Trespasser.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She doesn’t recognize the cottage that lays just beyond the field of flowers before her. It’s stone roof, tones of reds and oranges, is worn but not broken. She catches glimpses of the sun, caught in the expansive windows which generously occupy the front of it. She does not know this place.

She runs her hands across the petals of the flowers as she walks towards it. They are soft and feel cool beneath her fingertips. The colors begin to blur together like an Orlesian painting, blues melt into violets which kiss red. 

She does not know this place, but it feels familiar.

Of course, she often feels that way when she is in the Fade. Lavellan was never a Somniari, a dreamer, but she understood that the Fade bended differently around her than it did other people. 

It was not always this way- only after. Feynriel suggested that a powerful entity must watch over her while she slept. She did not like to think about that. She did not like to think about the figure of a wolf always in her peripheral- the creature that stalked her dreams but did not allow her to fully face it.

Lavellan knew she would not reach the cottage this time as her dream began to come apart. She is waking now, someone shaking her back into the waking world.

When she opens her eyes it is Sera who is straddling her and prodding her with sharp fingernails. Sera, with her sharp, playful eyes and wicked tongue. Lavellan wished she could be more like her at times. Other times she had wanted to open a rift and shove Sera through it.

There was a time when Lavellan thought she and Sera were cut from the same cloth. They were both elves, after all. But Lavellan was cut with thoughtful precision, and she had halla and magic sewn into her. Sera was more likely cut haphazardly with dull scissors and teeth. 

“Oi, you awake yet, Inky?” Always loud, always brash. It was like being friends with the sun.

“I asked you not to call me that,” Lavellan replies, her voice thick with sleep. She tries to roll over, to force Sera off of her. As a reply Sera pokes her multiple times in the ribs, causing the other elf to laugh.

“It’s just weird, innit? Never called you Lavellan before,” she says as she rolls off of Lavellan, pulling the blankets with her. “Ain’t calling you Ellana, either. Maybe Ellie? Ellie-bell. Bells. Yea, that’s good.”

“Maybe you should leave the nicknames to me, Buttercup,” Varric rumbles from the table not far from the cot Lavellan had been resting on. He tips a fake hat towards the former Inquisitor. “Morning, your Inquisitorialness. There’s tea and bread… and not much else.”

“Didn’t I just finish asking Sera not to call me by that title?” Lavellan asks, rising from the cot and stretching out her aching muscles. A few joints pop and creak, causing her to wince. Sera snorts.

“I thought it was exclusive to Inky,” the dwarf replies, taking a sip from his cup. She knew it was to hide his coy smile, the one he wore when they both knew he was being a little shit. 

“If your name wasn’t so elfy we could just call you by that,” says Sera as she stuffs bread into her mouth. The next sentence is obscured behind food but Lavellan understands it as, “Ellana Lavellan is the elfiest name in elfdom.” 

A small smile graces her lips as Lavellan moves to leave the tent the three shared, and they move to follow her. People always moved to follow her, even after she had disbanded the Inquisition. How long ago that seemed. Ages.

In actuality, Lavellan thought as they moved past the other tents in the encampment, the Inquisition had only been disbanded for a little over three years. But it could have been a lifetime ago. It certainly felt like it. Her time as Inquisitor had seemed like a dream- the only reminder was when her friends called her by her former title. She suspected that’s why they still did it.

Since S- he, she corrected in her mind, declared his intent to tear down the veil and destroy her world, Lavellan had not stopped moving. She did not have a day of rest since this whole mess had started. He had said to live a good life while she could, but in all honesty how could she? And how could he think she would have?

Even though the Inquisition had disbanded, she and her friends had stayed together to find a way to stop So-  
The Dread-  
ah, their former friend. Lavellan hated that she could not even think his name without being reminded of what he had promised. Of a world burned away. Of her as ashes. Her friends not even a memory. It had all meant nothing to him, and that was the thought that stuck. It was a stone that she constantly turned over in her mind.

“Commander,” Lavellan greeted as they approached the main tent of the encampment. It was an open space with a large wooden table, which was currently littered with maps and letters. 

“Ellana,” Cullen replied, his eyes glued to the parchment in his hand. “Cassandra and Leliana will be here momentarily. I’m just going over a report from the Dales.”

He was still as handsome as he had been when Lavellan first met him, and without the use of lyrium his mind was even sharper. 

When the Inquisition had disbanded, she thought he would go help rebuild the Templars. Or at least, help rehabilitate what was left of the order. But no. While other people filtered in and out of the encampment, Cullen had devoted his entire being to helping her. 

“There is a cause no more noble,” he had stated when Leliana asked him why he stayed. That was the end of the discussion.

In any other lifetime, Lavellan could have fallen in love with him. But in this lifetime, she had chosen the wrong person to love. She had to fix this first mistake before she could even allow herself to try again.

“What’s the report say, Commander?” She never called him Cullen, even when it was late and the last fires were dying out. 

“Tomorrow,” Cullen replied softly, placing the report on the table. Varric and Sera both shoot her looks of alarm.

The world had dropped out from under her feet. There was a dull roar in her ears and no! She would not allow this to consume her. She would not yield. She would not break. Not just yet.

“Tomorrow, then. I assume that’s why Cassandra and Leliana are not presently here,” Lavellan guesses, trying to quell the storm in her throat. Cullen nods.

“Shit,” Varric curses while shaking his head. “I gotta go find Hawke and them- I’ll be back.” 

“Jenny business,” Sera mutters. She was always as subtle as the Breach. They both were.

Both rogues leave as if demons are directly behind them. Though, Lavellan thinks, they would both likely shoot demons until they were nothing more than a pile of dust. No, this was worse. This was way worse.

Cullen is looking at her and then he is beside her. His hand is reaching for her good one and she did not even realize that her nails had been digging into it until he unfurls it for her. He closes the gap and tucks her into him. She allows it because suddenly he feels like the only solid thing in the world. 

There are no words needed. The moment is a soft glow against the haze of bad things. It is just for them.

Tomorrow the world was ending. Nothing they had done in the last three years seem to have mattered at all. 

Tomorrow everything would be different. But tonight they would celebrate the life that they did have and everything they had been through. Tonight they would live as they were each their own little gods, and even he could not take that from them.

 

Her armies stand behind her, and she is not sure how their own little rebellion had snowballed into this behemoth. They are all of one heart and one mind, with only one thought blazing before them. You may burn our world, but we will take down as many of you before that happens. We would take all.

From atop her hart, a Royal Sixteen named Majesty, Lavellan can see his armies. They are branded and lethal and pointed ears. No humans. No qunari. No dwarves. None but a sea of elves- her kin. She feels sick at the thought that it is because of her and her kind that this world will be annihilated.

She knows him, even from a distance. He is erect and rigid atop his mount, a beautiful black hart whose antlers reach out like winding branches. The banners of his army flutters in the wind- always the wolf. Always the villain in the stories. She sees him urge his hart toward her, alone. 

She rides out to meet him. She feels the eyes of her friends and comrades burn into her, channeling their fury and justice into a single stream.

“Vhenan,” and his voice is treacherous and a warning, like smoke spilling under the door of a house on fire.

“I no longer know how to address you,” her voice is a whisper on the wind. Evidence that she does not want to be here. 

He smiles. Her heart feels sick. Rotten inside of her. She wishes to cut it out.

“I am still me,” he says. But he is not. He is no longer a hedge mage with a fascination for history and a hatred of tea. Now he is a God, with gilded armor and steel in his eyes. 

“I do not want to fight-”

“I accept your surrender.”

“Please do not interrupt me,” she says, steeling her voice. She can be hard, too. She grips the reins and Majesty brays beneath her. He is still smiling as she continues, “I do not wish to fight you, but I will. We will.”

“I see you have quite the force,” he jerks his head towards them and she knows he thinks he can turn them to stone with but a thought. He sees them as toy soldiers- nothing more than playthings he can knock over whenever he chooses. “It would not be wise to engage in battle with me, Ellana.” 

“I see you have some ancients with you,” Lavellan ignores the threat. Her heart is beating rapidly beneath her chest. “There is a chance that when you tear down the veil, there won’t be as many of you as you think there are. You need them. We will take them from you.” 

There is a rippling behind him and he knows there are her agents with daggers to the throats of his people. She had chosen this location for this reason. This open field on the border of Tevinter that used to be a graveyard. She thinks of the tunnels running beneath their feet. He wouldn’t have known- it was not that old, yet old enough. 

The Dalish and city elves who had joined him bristle and move to strike, but he holds up a hand. They still.

“How did you get past…” He laughs. “Blood magic, if I can guess by the way Dorian is heaving. Crude, but effective.”

You don’t need a scalpel to perform surgery, Lavellan thinks. You could do it with a rusted knife. 

“What are your terms, vhenan?” His eyes are sharp and she thinks of Sera. She thinks of their conversations when he said that she and him were not so different. 

“We know we cannot win,” she says. They had known for awhile. “But you know a way to tear down the veil while protecting some within it.”

It was an old spell they had both been tracking at one point. It was a race and he had won. If they had only been faster, smarter. But he had control of the Eluvians and it was like trying to outrun wind.

“You want me to save you. After all the trouble you have been giving me,” his eyes burrow deep into hers. She does not falter. She does not waver- she cannot at this juncture. Not yet.

“Once I had learned of the the spell’s existence, I was always going to save you,” he continues. She knows that he means just her. He knows that she means all of them. “The spell only works for so many people, vhenan.”

“We know.” 

“We, we, we,” Solas sighs. She never refers to herself as alone. She is a part of this world, woven into the fabric. The fibers are stronger united- it is easy to cut one thread. 

“Is this the best you can do?” he asks. “A handful of ancients for an army of shemlen? That doesn’t seem very fair.”

He still thinks her people are worth nothing. She can tell by the tone in his voice. She can tell by the words he chooses. She takes a deep breath.

“Do you want a better offer?” Now is the time not to falter. Not for a second. “We can avoid bloodshed altogether. Fine. Let’s decide it all on a single fight between two people. Your champion versus my champion.” 

“And the terms?” He is amused. Always amused by the small children playing at war. 

“If my champion wins, you will save who you can. If your champion wins, you can kill us all.” 

She understands why he is called the Dread Wolf when he smiles this time- it is predatory and calculating and already a decided victory for him. 

“I agree to these terms.” 

“Then sign in blood.” She pulls a parchment from her pack and hastily writes the conditions of victory. It was easier to do when she had two working arms. Clumsily, she cuts her thumb and presses it to the parchment.

“More crude blood magic? Do you not trust me, my heart?”

“Never again.” His smile only falters for a moment, but he still presses a thumb to the parchment. Her agents disappear from behind his men.

“Choose your champion carefully,” he teases as he pulls the reins, turning his hart back to his army. She mirrors him and rides back towards hers.

There is a stamping of hooves as he decides who to send. After a moment, a tall broad elf with a large sword steps toward the clearing between the two armies. He is built like a mountain, hard and solid and imposing and impossibly strong looking. His sword is long and flashes like eyes hidden behind a mask. He is danger incarnate. 

The Dread Wolf is still smiling. Victory is within his grasp.

Lavellan dismounts her hart and hands the reins to Cole, who looks at her like she is the only star in the sky. Vivienne passes her a staff and presses a kiss to her temple. Her friends reach out to touch her one last time. 

Her friends are behind her and she is invincible, even if her fake arm dangles uselessly by her side.

The Dread Wolf is no longer smiling when he realises Lavellan has chosen herself as champion. He did not think she would. She had used the word champion on purpose. He had thought “Hawke.” But it is too late and he would look like a fool and a coward if he backed out of their agreement now.

She had painted him into a corner and they both knew it. 

When the battle between the two starts, it is clear his warrior has many advantages over her. But she is smart. She is clever. The world around them is gone and it is just the two of them in this very dangerous game.

When he rushes towards her, she lines the ground with ice. He falters only slightly, his mass not meant for agility. But his reach is long and his sword swipes at her. She dances away from it, but he is still charging.

Mages are meant for distance, not for up close combat. It is piting a bird against a cat and he moves lithely like a predator. But she is no songbird. She may not be Hawke, but she is still dangerous. His sword connects with her leg, and a ribbon of blood erupts from her calf.

She does not mind. She uses his momentary glee and pride to direct lightning towards him. It is unpredictable and he cannot guess its movements. He dodges one strike. A second. But not the third. In the moment he is paralyzed, she swings her staff and a wave of ice hits him.

Again he cannot move and she has a chance to barrage him with spells. He is burned. He is frozen. He shakes it off like a mabari repelling water.

But mages cannot cast without limits, and soon she finds herself depleted. She needs a moment and that’s when it is his turn to strike. 

They dance back and forth, a flurry of strokes and spells until he is so close. So close she can smell his breath and see the blueness of his eyes. He brings his sword down on her and she uses all in her reserve to call forth her enchanted blade to knock his sword away from him. 

The whirling of the blade in the air sounds like victory. But he does not need his blade to kill her. He reaches around and grabs her throat, lifting her from the ground.

He squeezes her throat and her vision darkens.

She thinks about the last time she kissed Solas, when he took her arm.

She thinks about Bianca and Dagna working on her new arm- a wooden and silverite creation meant to look unassuming. 

She thinks about how foolish people are to underestimate the ingenuity of women. How quickly she is dismissed.

With all of her physical strength, Lavella swings her left arm toward the man currently killing her. Her arm clicks into place and the dagger hidden in her palm connects with his temple.

He splutters for only a moment before dropping her.

And suddenly she is coughing and wheezing and sweet air is rushing back into her. 

It is the only sound on the field. 

And then there are arms around her and she doesn’t know who is encircling her but suddenly there is relief in her throat. She knows that the purple flowers that had just bloomed there die, and suddenly the pain in her leg is gone as well and it’s just a sweet blanket that envelops her. 

“Vhenan,” and it’s his voice that comes rushing against the shell of her ear and she doesn’t know if she’s happy or mad. His voice cracks slightly, “That was irresponsible and reckless.” 

He lifts her easily, like she is a doll. She wants to protest but she feels depleted. Feeble. He does not even look at her people when he declares,“Your champion is just and I will honor our agreement. Go to Minrathous. I will see to it everyone in the city survives the coming of the new age.” 

She is still clutched in his embrace as he turns toward his army. No, she needs to go with her people. 

“Solas!” It is Cassandra that calls out for him. Her stalwart friend. “Put Ellana down.”

“Seeker.” He turns to face her. “I am honoring our agreement. She will be safe with me. If you do not leave now, I will not be so merciful.” 

“You can’t! You signed an agreement!” Her protest rings across the field. Behind her, Lavellan can see her friends alight with rage. 

“I did,” he concedes. “And the agreement was to save who I can. I cannot save you if you are already dead.” 

“You had no intention of ever honoring our agreement, did you? This was just a game to you!” Cassandra’s face is twisted and full of rage. She goes to draw her sword but she must see Lavellan’s head shake.

“Ca-” her voice is hoarse and although he had healed her, she was weak. Cassandra stills and suddenly all eyes are on her. They always are. She is sick of it. She is sick of losing. 

“Please, do not talk. I repaired what I could but you still need rest,” Solas pleads. Her eyes are fluttering but she can not sleep. Not yet. Not yet. She is so close to being done. 

“Cassandra,” Lavellan continues despite Solas’ suggestion. “Please, please take them and go.” 

“But-”

“For me,” she finishes and it is final. They would do it for her. 

This may be the final time she sees her family and so she drinks in the sight of them. 

Cullen is all rage and regret and unsaid promises.  
Sera is sour and curses, her mouth twisted down into spite.  
Vivienne is cold fire incarnate. She is a beautiful phoenix who would burn Solas down if she could.  
Bull is solemn, his eyes shining with pride. And love. Krem is beside him, gratitude pouring from his soul.  
Blackwall (because he will always be Blackwall to her) shrinks into himself, the picture of anguish and despair.  
Leliana is a cool mask, a glass pond on a winter’s morning.  
Varric tips a fake hat to her, and she almost wants to laugh. She almost wants to cry.

Cassandra is rigid, like a sword planted into the earth. She is faithful and unwavering and in her face, Lavellan can see her making mental promises to honor her every wish.

Cole is nowhere to be seen. She knows that he will follow. He will follow and never leave her alone because he understands the softness in her heart. How easily she cries. Her greatest weakness is his greatest strength. 

Dorian is the picture of heartbreak and when she sees the tears in his eyes, a dam is broken and the tears fall from her face in earnest. Her best friend. Her confidante. He looks like he wants to reach out to her, but Hawke is behind him with her hand gripping his arm. 

“I love you!” She calls as Solas gently lifts her onto his hart. She does not look at him, but instead at the people who were behind her. They love her, too.

Her people. She watches them until they are out of sight, hidden behind the terrain.

He does not speak to her as they ride into the night, but his grip around her is strong and unwavering.

 

She watches alone from a glass prison as the veil falls. She is not really alone. There is Abelas, the sentinel she met at the Temple of Mythal. She did not ask why he is here and not serving his mistress. Maybe she had sent him to serve Fen’Harel. She does not care.

The veil burns the sky, and it is not unlike watching a candle burning parchment. The colors are different but the effect is the same. It is beautiful. It is horrible. 

His hands are clasped behind him as he stands beside her, watching the rebirth of his world. He does not look at her. 

“There are things in this lifetime I wish to forget,” he startles her when he starts speaking. “This is one of them.” 

She is surprised. 

“Why do you say that?” Lavellan has learned not to accuse. She knows when to listen, even if what she hears are lies.

“The Dread Wolf created the veil for a reason,” Abelas replies. He says no more on the subject and she is left to wonder what he means. 

Solas had said that the Evanuris were corrupt with power and that they were not what the Dalish had envisioned. She touches her bare face, remembering her vallaslin that honored Sylaise. Lavellan was more interested in reading books by the river than hunting. She never cared for hurting other things. 

She wonders why her gods were not the same as her. She wonders what she believes in now that her gods were dead.


	2. Chapter 2

Ellana does not see Solas until a week after the veil had been burned. When he returns, he is all smiles and kind eyes and looking at her with radiance. She withers under the intensity of it. He wraps his arms around her and plants a kiss on her forehead.

“How are you liking the hold?” He takes her by the crook of her arm and leads her through a hallway. She does not even protest.

“It is lovely,” she replies with her eyes cast to the ground. He hums in agreement. 

They traverse through the keep, which is all high glass windows and white stone. Colorful murals of flowers and halla decorate the walls and curtains that seem to be made of starlight flutter from the draft. The keep is pleasantly warm and impossibly beautiful. 

As they walk through one of the many gardens, Ellana sees the attendants staring at her. They talk behind their hands, tittering and blushing. They remind her of little birds that flit about, pecking for seeds. She wonders if they are her people or his. She wonders if there’s a difference anymore.

“I have brought you a gift,” he explains as they head towards the stables. A horsemaster bows as they approach and Solas waves his hand. 

“Aneth ara, Fen’Harel,” the horsemaster greets. She is young and pretty, a splattering of freckles across her face and her hair twisted up in an intricate braid. Lavellan wonders if she is foolish to address Solas this way. She wonders if Solas likes to be addressed as Fen’Harel.

“Atherillen,” Solas greets with an incline of his head. If the name Fen’Harel bothers him, he gives no indication. Instead he motions to her, “May I present the Lady Ellana?” 

“Aneth ara, Lady Ellana,” Atherillen smiles through thin lips, clearly displeased with her. 

“A pleasure,” Lavellan replies. She remembers Josephine’s etiquette lessons. She remembers her smile. She wishes she had been there that final day, but she was in Antiva with her family. It was better that way. She wonders if they made it to Minrathous. 

“I’ve come to show Ellana my gift for her,” Solas explains. The horsemaster nods in response and disappears into the stables.

“I don’t think she likes me very much,” Lavellan comments while they are alone. Beside her, Solas stiffens. He does not respond.

When she returns, Atherillen brings someone Lavellan thought she would never see again. It is her Royal Sixteen hart, Majesty. The former inquisitor rips away from Solas and flings her arms around the giant beast who nuzzles and brays in return at the sight of her master and friend.

“Oh!” Lavellan sighs into her fur, burying her face deeper. “Oh, Majesty. Ir abelas. I did not mean to leave you.” 

“So you like your present?” Solas asks. She turns her head toward him and his smile is radiant, like he himself had cured the blight.

“Yes,” she replies with a shy smile. Her face is red and she feels foolish. He is the man who broke your heart, she whispers to herself. He is the man who broke your world. 

“I am pleased,” he says. “I had traded with your friends for her.”

“What?” Lavellan tears herself away from Majesty, who nudges against her in protest. Her heart thumps against her chest. “Did they send a letter? Did they say anything? Are they okay?”

“Vhenan,” Solas sighs through his nose. From the corner of her eye, Lavellan can see Atherillen grin. 

“Sol-,” Lavellan stops speaking. What to call the man you love but betrayed everything you were for? “Did they send a letter?”

“No.” 

Bullshit. Liar. They would send word. But Lavellan can feel the tension in the air. The tension brought on when both parties know the one is lying. She is balancing on a dagger’s edge and although she thought Solas would not hurt her, she remembers that he was willing to burn her in her world. It was only happenstance that she lived.

He did not really care. He could parade about and pretend that he cared, but she would never be first. 

“Are they okay at least? Can you tell me that?”

After a minute of silence he replies, “They endure.” 

The air feels thick and Lavellan suddenly feels light headed. She isn’t sure that was the answer she was looking for. 

“Come, let us have something to eat. It is near midday and you must be starving. Dareth shiral, Atherillen.” 

She gives Majesty one last hug and a promise to come back and brush her, and allows herself to be lead away. 

 

Time seems to stand still at the keep. For weeks Ellana tries to dream about her friends- to reach Fenyriel or Dorian. Anyone, really. She yields no success. 

She feels like she lives inside a beautiful bubble. Despite the expansive lake and mild temperature, she has no idea where in Thedas they are. It rarely rains, and when it does it is a downpour of heavy droplets that make the keep sound like it is singing. 

Solas comes and goes often, and the time they spend together is disjointed and awkward. If he notices, he does not say anything. She does not try to mend it either. There is much left unsaid between them. 

Lavellan never thought of herself as an angry person. As First to Keeper Deshanna, she had learned to keep a cool head in a crisis. She tried not to let emotion over rule her, which was difficult as she was a very emotional person. Not that she wanted to be.

But she was. She cried easily, which is embarrassing enough as it is without the added pressure of making world changing decisions. She remembers breaking down into tears when she accidentally knocked over markers on the war table. Her advisors assured her it was okay, but she still felt ridiculous all the same. Josephine had called her tender-hearted many times after that.

And oh, how she wept when the veil fell. 

She was terrible at being Inquisitor- Lavellan wasn’t even sure why she had agreed to it in the first place. No, she remembers: It was the pure look of dread on Cassandra’s face when she thought the Inquisition was over before it even really began. Poor, lovely, tough Cassandra. 

The only thing Lavellan took solace in while at Skyhold was the library. She and Dorian would lounge for hours and talk about spell theory. She was good at that. She was good at magic. Maybe that was why she was attracted to Solas in the first place- he was an outsider who loved magic, too. 

Lavellan thinks back to her battle with Corypheus at Haven. How she stumbled through the snow by herself, tears and snot frozen to her face. She had recited spells and magical properties under her breath, a coping mechanism as her only company. She did know how she survived him. Or the walk in the cold.

Soft. Ellana was supposed to be hard edges with wide shoulders, but she was not. She knew it, too. Her decisions were riddled by her second guessing and her desire to appease her friends. Despite her good intentions, things always wound up a mess.

She sided with mages? The templars attacked.

She let Cole stay with the Inquisition? Sera didn’t speak to her for days. 

She even had to choose if Hawke or Warden Alistair would be left in the fade to fight fear itself. The look on Warden-Commander Surana’s face when Lavellan finally met her made her wish she had stayed instead. She had volunteered to, but they would not hear of it.

The only decision she ever made that anyone agreed on was letting Morrigan drink from the Well of Sorrows. And she mostly did that because of the look on Dorian and Solas’ faces. She had wanted to reclaim her people’s legacy, but there was an undertone of something sinister in the temple. Something ancient. Something unsaid.

Decision after decision that should have made by a real leader. Someone who could make the hard choices- not her. She only became the Herald of Andraste (and how arrogant the humans were to thrust that title on her) through accident.

She only ever told Cole, but the reason she was at the Conclave to begin with was because of her compassion. 

“I know,” Cole had said. “It flickers on the outside of your thoughts sometimes, like a candle dying out.”

The Dalish had a rule that only a certain amount of mages could be allowed in a clan at a time. It was to keep everyone safe. When Mereen, just a child, had started exhibiting signs of magic the clan had talked about sending her elsewhere. Away. 

They already had four mages in the clan. Four was already pushing it. A fifth? A fifth would have to be sent away. And so Ellana, despite being First, volunteered to go to the Conclave. 

“It would just be for a bit. To delay sending her away,” she had told Mereen’s mother. But more time with her child was a blessing, even if it was only for a little while.

It did not matter anyway. Her clan had avoided one disaster only to walk into another. After elves had started flocking to Solas, the humans had turned paranoid and sought out her clan and chased them far away. She does not know what happened to them. If Leliana knew, she did not tell her. She wonders if her clan was spared the suffering of the veil falling. Another one of her failures.

No one could have guessed what would happen to Ellana at the Conclave. There was no way to have known. Her compassion had led her again to Divine Justinia’s cries. Why couldn’t she leave well enough alone?

“You’re like me,” Cole said. “You want to help.” 

And that was the truth of it. Every action she took was to help other people. And now there wasn’t anything she could do. She felt useless. She felt tired.

And she was going crazy inside this keep. She needed to do something- anything. She needed to get out.

 

 

“You’re especially quiet tonight, Ellana,” Solas said. He set down his utensils and steepled his fingers- the image of a patient impatience.

Their dinner tonight was some sort of roasted bird and exotic vegetables. There was fresh bread woven like a braid that flaked beneath her fingertips. The food was heavy and rich. It reminded her of the Winter Palace, where she ate nothing due to nerves.

She hummed an agreement while tearing the bread into tiny pieces. 

“Is there something troubling you?” he asked. She could feel his gaze through heavy lids. It never sat well with him if he did not know everything there was to know.

“It is nothing important, really,” she replied. Direct. Honest. He may play his games but she would not. Not that she was ever the liar, but she saw no point in lying to him. He had won. And she was tired.

“Tell me what I can do for you, vhenan,” he reaches across for her hand and she pulls away. She may be polite, but she is still angry. “Ask it of me and it will be yours.”

She used to ask to see her friends. She used to ask to go home. She does not ask for anything anymore.

“I am bored,” she replies, throwing the bread down on her plate. “And it is stifling to be cooped up here. I used to see the world, Sol- I used to see mountains and ruins and things so wonderful and big beyond myself. Now I am caged and I am going crazy.”

He is smiling again. He leans back against the chair, which is more like a throne. Robes cover him like smoke. Decadent. Opulent. Nothing like he was before. 

“I will show you the world when it is safe,” he says. “Right now it is chaotic and dangerous.”

“I am not afraid of danger!” Her voice rings out, desperate. “I am not fragile. You know this.”

“This is beyond demons and Tevinter agents, emma lath. I am aware of your power. It is different out there.” 

“What aren’t you saying? I know you see me as just a child but-”

“Fenedhis! I do not see you that way. Please,” Solas pleads, “do not suggest it again.”

“Ir abelas.” She does not feel the need to apologize, but it slips out anyway. He softens.

“There were… complications. I do not wish to discuss them presently.” He looks older now. She is curious now. Beyond curious. She is burning with the desire to ask him. It is consuming her. 

“Ir abelas,” she apologizes again. If she wants to get information out of him, now is not the time. Not with that look on his face. Not with this feeling in the air. He waves a hand. Like she is one of his servants. 

“It is not important right now. We are focusing on your problem.” He reaches for her hand again and this time she lets him because she feels sorry for him. Her damned compassion. Her damned soft heart. “What to do to occupy your time, vhenan. I did not realize how boring it must be here for you. What do you suggest?”

“Books. A tutor to teach me to paint. Someone to teach me magic. I feel different since… since it happened.” 

He laughs, and it is a short mirthful bark. How she had forgotten the sound. When was the last time she heard him laugh? When was the last time she had made him laugh? 

“This I can do for you,” he concedes. He kisses the back of her hand and she smiles. But the back of her mind is buzzing like angry hornets. She wonders what the world is like now to have him so scared. She wonders if he is lying. 

They finish their dinner and he departs with a kiss to her forehead and a promise to fulfill her requests. She goes to bed anxious.

 

Abelas is chosen to be her tutor in magic. He does not speak much and is strict but not unkind. He corrects her stance with warm hands and sometimes he is so close to her, she feels like blushing. It was never this way before. But then she realizes she used to receive physical affection by the barrel and now she cannot remember the last time someone has touched her besides Solas.

Sera used to wrap her arms around her neck and shower her in kisses to embarrass her. Dorian would loop his arm through hers as they walked. Bull would pick her up and swing her around until she was dizzy and out of breath from laughter. There were many ways her friends showed her they cared. They all had their own secret language. Their own way to say “I am here for you.” 

She pangs at her own loneliness. She thought Cole would be here with her. She does not know where he is. Another thing she does not know.

“Ma banal las halamshir var vhen!” Abelas is cursing and he only does that when he is especially frustrated with her. They had been training for weeks together. “Get your head out of the clouds, da’len. Your focus needs to be here. Sahlin.”

She does not apologize. It feels strange to say sorry to someone who is named Sorrow- he seems to have his fill of it. She just nods in response.

“Now that the veil is gone, your magic is like a -” she knows he is searching for the common word when he briefly pauses. She is thankful he tries to translate it all for her, especially given his contempt for the Dalish. “Ma ghilana mir din’an! Even though your language is simple, the words escape me.”

She knows this is why he doesn’t speak much. When they first met he was self assured and had a purpose- to serve Mythal. Now he is tutoring her and it must feel like teaching a child. She feels guilty, but grows impatient with his impatience.

She counts to ten and says, “Maybe we should take a break.”

His shoulders drop in visible relief and they sit beneath a large tree in the open courtyard where they are training. From this angle she can see the side of the mountain in which the keep is cut out of. Abelas lounges and closes his eyes, enjoying the cool breeze that makes it’s way through. 

She watches the fire that sparkles from her fist as she clenches and unclenches. It is dazzling and dangerous but she controls it easily. She twirls the flame through her fingers, watching it weave and bob.

“When do you plan to marry Fen’Harel?” Abelas asks.

The fire in her hand immediately dies but she feels as if she has been scalded. Although they have been keeping each other company nearly every day for weeks now, they usually do not speak. 

“Pardon me? What gave you the impression we are getting married?” She feels like she is in a nightmare. She wonders if Abelas is secretly a desire demon who seeks to torment her.

“He calls you vhenan. You live in his keep and under his protection. You are beautiful and strong. With the veil gone, you are worthy to become the bride of Fen’Harel.” He is looking at her now with eyes unblinking. It is unnerving.

“I don’t know what you mean by that last comment, but we are not getting married,” she replies feeling offended. 

“With the veil gone, your connection to the fade is restored. You are whole. You are immortal. You can learn the ways of the People,” he explains and she feels her body go cold.

He states these things like they are facts but she never thought of it. Of course the tales all say that the elves used to be undying, but she did not know if it was true. Or what it had to do with the veil. Apparently it had everything to do with it. Did she know that at some point? 

Is that why she felt like time was slipping by but also standing still? She thought it was some magic within the keep, but maybe it was within her. Her body knew what her mind did not- that it was in a state of arrest. 

“Did you not know?”

“No,” she whispers. “I had no idea.” 

If she was immortal… Did this mean her friends were as well? And was immortality a gift or a curse? Had she condemned them to this new, strange world?

“Ir abelas, I did not know. I did not mean to cause alarm.” 

“You did nothing wrong,” she says. “Except perhaps insinuate that I should be married because I am beautiful. But does that mean everyone who survived the veil became immortal?”

“I have not met everyone. I have met only you and those who are here with us,” he replies. “And they are all elven.” 

So he knows her friends are not elven. She wonders how much he knows about everything else.

“Have you left the keep since the veil fell?” She tries to be cool and calm, to convey that she is not dying of curiosity. She imagines a bowl of undisturbed water. A mirror. A stone.

“Only a few times-”

“Ellana!” Of course he would be interrupting their conversation. This pivotal point in time. His timing is dreadful. And a bit curious. 

“Hello,” she softly greets Solas as he strides across the courtyard. She still does not call his name. She rises to meet him and he places a kiss on the crown of her head. 

“Abelas, I thought you were teaching her,” he says with mirth in his eyes. “I did not expect to find you lounging around and gossiping.”

Abelas is no longer lounging. He is a rigid soldier again- an agent of Fen’Harel. He is no longer Ellana’s only friend and she feels the shift immediately. She thinks about his warm hands and frustrated curses. His head is bowed.

“Vhenan, there is a gift for you in your room,” he says. “Please go put it on and meet me in the gardens.” 

She only nods because he is not looking at her. He is only looking at Abelas and suddenly Ellana feels like they are children being punished by their keeper. She worries for him and so she ducks behind a pillar out of sight as she leaves.

“Abelas,” Solas’ voice sounds different as it is carried across the courtyard. It is not longer his voice, but the voice of Fen’Harel. It is cold and it is cutting and it steals the warmth from her bones.

They are speaking in rapid elvish and she catches only brief words and phrases. She does not need to know the words to know their meaning- that Abelas should not speak to her. That he must not tell her anything at all. Her one chance at answers slips away. She feels frustrated. She retreats.

At least Solas did not pressure her into sharing a room. Hers is large and newly stocked bookshelves line the walls. The windows are tall, allowing ample light to stream in during the morning. Enchanted plants and flowers float around her room, and it smells like elfroot. It is her own haven. 

A harem of servants are waiting for her when she enters, smiling nervously at her. They whisk her in front of the large mirror she had covered, and they set to tying her new robes (the gift Solas had mentioned) onto her. Her arm is replaced with one that is gilded and covered in filigree. Her feet are wrapped in ribbons of silk. One servant is braiding her hair while another powders her face. They pluck and prod and she is overwhelmed by it all. 

She thinks about the Winter Palace. She thinks of Josie running her fingers through her hair and Vivienne teaching her to walk. Leliana brought her beautiful shoes with little black bows. Sera and Cassandra refused to participate in the frivolity of it all. That is what she wanted.

Not these strangers who barely talk to her or acknowledge her existence. When they were done, Ellana recognizes herself but only just. She hates what she sees.

Her robes were like gossamer wings and mist. They flow from her body like a waterfall and she feels naked and exposed. When she moves, different colors shimmer around her. 

Her hair was twisted into an elegant braid, pinned together with golden clips. When was the last time she had cut her hair? When did it become so long?

At her throat was a gold choker encrusted with jewels. It was too much. Too decadent. It was Vivienne, but she was Ellana. She missed her Keeper’s robes. She felt like she was playing a game but no one had explained the rules to her.

The servants escorted her to the gardens, and the robes move like a dream. They billow and flow and she must have looked out of a story. She thinks of Abelas calling her the bride of Fen’Harel. Her mouth feels like ash.

He is seated when she arrives. He is wearing black and gold robes and she hates herself for noticing how beautiful he is. He had started to grow out his hair and it was pulled back into an intricate knot. When she suggested that he shaved the sides, he had. 

He rises to greet her but gasps, taken aback by her appearance. She feels self conscious. Maybe she looked as stupid as she felt. She shouldn’t care what he thinks. She can’t. But she does. 

“Emma lath…” he whispers. He gathers her in his arms and kisses her forehead, breathing in her hair. Her traitorous heart flutters, and she blames it on the lack of physical contact. “You are a vision.”

“Ma serannas,” she says. “But it is this outfit, not me.” 

Never me, she thinks. She is common. She is Dalish. That used to be enough. 

“I do not believe that,” Solas says, pulling away from her. She misses the contact and the smell of him. She is becoming pathetic. He smiles at her and tucks her arm into his. “Come, we are going out.”

“Out?” 

“To dinner. I thought you wanted to get away from the keep?”

They are strolling at a leisurely pace down stairs she has never taken before. Never been allowed to take. She tries to hide her excitement and fails. 

“You said it was dangerous,” Lavellan says, careful of her tone. She does not accuse him but she wants him to know that she remembers their conversation.

“It is. Where we are going is safe.” They round a corner and in a cavernous room stands an eluvian. There are guards posted on both sides, with onyx armor and pikes so tall Ellana wonders how strong they must be to hold them so straight.

Solas activates the eluvian and they step through.


	3. Chapter 3

It is palatial. The large hall in which they enter is filled with strings of some sort of illuminated flower lights that glow softly against the stone and rubble. At one point this place had been some sort of temple, but now it looks like a restaurant from Val Royeaux. There are tables covered in fine linen topped with candelabras that burn with veil fire. Decadent looking food rests on plates of gold and silver, untouched. In the middle is a clearing where people are laughing and dancing, drunk on their own obliviousness to the outside world.

Solas has taken her to a party. It was not what she had expected. Lavellan isn’t sure what was more surreal- the fact they were attending a party together or the fact anyone thought it was an appropriate time to have such an affair. Hadn’t Solas said that the world was dangerous? 

“Lord Fen’Harel, we welcome you,” a man in a golden mask greets them with a deep bow. He, like everyone else, is elven. She was getting sick of elves. 

Solas merely nods at him, and Ellana wants to scoff at his demeanor. Wasn’t Fen’Harel supposed to be above this attitude? She is being cruel and she knows it. He is wearing a mask. It may not be gold and apparent, but it is there. He is always wearing a mask. 

A waiter leads them to an alcove where they are to dine. There are intricate carvings in the stone of figures who look to be casting magic. It swirls around them and Lavellan would swear that the stone shimmers where the magic is carved. Below the table, runes are carved into the floor. She does not recognize them and Solas does not seem to mind. 

When they cross over the runes, the sound of the party is muffled except for the string quartet playing not far from them. She does not need to ask Solas to know if it is for privacy. He is Fen’Harel: Of course it is for privacy.

They are seated across from each other at this small wooden table, where the light is romantic and reminds her just how beautiful he can be. She hates it. It is stifling. 

Their waiter brings them plates of sliced pears and candied nuts, apple slices that are shaped into roses. Water and a sweet smelling wine are poured from decanters of crystal. It is too much, but if she is being honest with herself she is enjoying it. Lavellan wonders if she is starting to lose her mind. 

The waiter does not speak to them, but bows extravagantly to signal that he will leave them alone for the time being. Solas gestures for her to dig in, and she does because the air is awkward and her stomach wants her to. 

“I feel like we have not been honest with each other in awhile, Ellana,” Solas says without looking at her. He is watching the dancers and he does not touch the food. “For that I am sorry.” 

She does not answer. She has been honest. She has presented herself exactly as who she is and made no apologies for it. 

“I did not trade anything for Majesty. She was left at the gates of the keep. I do not know how anyone reached it. Cole, I believe, but I have yet to see him.” He is still not looking at her and she suspects it is because he will see the anger in her eyes. But there is none. She is tired of being angry. 

“I am sorry for lying to you again. I do not know what is wrong with me. I do not feel myself,” he confesses. 

“I wouldn’t know,” Lavellan replies because she feels like being unfair. He is being honest and she knows she is squandering this opportunity but she does not care. She is tired of his lies. She does not know why he even bothered to lie about this. 

“You know me better than anyone,” he says. “My time with you was who I wanted to be. Who I am at my best.”

“Why couldn’t you stay that way?” Her voice is a whisper. A ghost of a thought long abandoned. 

“When I awoke, this world was not what I had expected,” Solas finally turns to look at her and his eyes are apologetic but hard. “When I created the veil it was to stop the Evanuris but I had ruined so much. I had caused so much suffering for my people who became trapped in uthenera… And you know all of this. You know what I think of our heritage and what has become our legacy.”

“Yes, I know your disdain quite well. You made that very apparent.” Her voice is diamonds, dragon’s breath. She feels like a flood gate is about to break and all she can do to stop from crying is remind herself that somewhere out there her friends are okay. They are fine. Fine, fine, fine. 

She thinks about how most of her friends are human. In the back of her mind, she thinks about how he does not even care for them at all.

“I don’t hate the Dalish. I hate that because of my actions they are less,” Solas laments. He sighs through his nose, a sign he is trying to keep his mask in place. “You know how you feel now. You know it now so why don’t you understand? This world has been sleeping because of me.” 

“Just because something is different that doesn’t make it inherently better,” Lavellan replies. She is twisting a candied nut in her fingers to release tension. She imagines it as his ego and tries to crush it between her palms, but it refuses to bend. Refuses to break. 

She doesn’t understand why he is this way. She thinks of the centuries of racism between humans and elves. She thinks about how they are more alike than different.

“I know. You have shown me that. I have lived many years and have forgotten how pure some souls can be,” he says. She stills momentarily, thrown off guard by his sincerity. “I had been so used to corruption and greed and the sick poisoning of malice that I was blinded. I’m sorry.”

“Do you know what happened to my friends?” She directs the conversation back towards known waters. She does not feel pure and knows he does not mean it as an insult, but it feels like one to her. Pure is for children, for fairy tales. She is a murderer, even if it is reluctantly. 

“Many of the eluvians around Minrathous have been broken, but my agents report they are alive. But Ellana, this is why I wanted to talk to you tonight,” Solas replies. He looks nervous, like a bird caught in a storm. Her heart leaps to her throat, fearing the worst news. 

“What is it?” Her answer is rushed and full of worry and he takes her hand and squeezes it. She allows it because oh, his hand is warm and familiar and an anchor. She feels a callus from where he holds his staff.

“When I tore down the veil, I thought I would restore the world to the time of Arlathan. I did not. There is magic in the world again but I failed… Again. Time and time again I fail. What am I doing wrong?” His face is twisted in pain and she grips his hand tighter.

She is a fool and she knows it. But she loves him so much, even with all the hurt he has caused her. She is a fool to want this. 

“What happened?”

“There is a crack in the void. I can hear them. The Evanuris. They are awake and they are angry,” Solas whispers. “They do not possess flesh-and-blood bodies but I fear what their followers may do. They are not right, Ellana. They are wrong and broken. And the void is a dark place for dark creatures.”

“We can stop them,” she volunteers. Her friends are fine and they are fine and they stopped a god, so what’s a couple more? They aren’t even gods, she thinks. They are shadows. They are nothing.

“That is not all.” He is looking at her and his eyes are black and full of despair. “I would have waited to tear down the veil. I would have waited for you to be old and grey and have had the life you deserve but the red lyrium…” 

“What about it?” She felt like it was an understatement. She knows what is wrong about red lyrium. The corruption of it. The blight. She remembers the fear in Varric’s eyes. She saw the future.

“It is spreading quickly. It is twisting things that should not be twisted. It is a child playing with fire. Should it get to a heart of a Titan…” Solas trails off and they both know what could happen. 

She saw the future. 

She saw the future and the taint and the smell of death that hung in the air. She remembers how jagged and crude the world had been. Thin slices of red that glowed like fire woven into the tapestry of the world. It is a sickness.

“Oh, is that it?” Lavellan laughs nervously and even Solas lets out of a soft laugh. The thought of asking him about why he has kept her from her friends hovers in front of her but she does not reach for it. She is not sure she is ready for that answer.

“For now, I suppose. And is that not enough?” 

It’s plenty. 

 

She hasn’t forgiven him. She hasn’t. But when they get back to the keep, his lips are on hers and it feels like nothing has changed and she is drunk on it. Her skin feels like fireworks and she craves his touch and any logical thoughts are abandoned for this feeling.

She forgets about how he would have let her die. She forgets how he threatened to kill her friends for standing up for her. She forgets their small battles over the past three years because she is tired and weak and a fool for him. 

And he devours her. He is a wolf and she is a sheep but she doesn’t mind because for once it is nice to not be in charge. It is nice to let go and feel out of control. 

It is not like before. When they touch, sparks of magic fly off of them and she feels not entirely in control of her body and he feels like an inferno. They feel perfect for each other and she had never known anything to feel like this before.

He is whispering in elven and she understands with perfect clarity. It’s I love you and I am sorry and I will never let you go. It’s promises and worship and she feels her lips forming words to respond in kind. 

She is a fool and she hasn’t forgiven him but there is a sun burning behind her eyes and waves crashing around her and she doesn’t want this feeling to end. 

 

She is dreaming of a world on fire with blackened trees and smoke that becomes monsters. The world is black and red and her eyes burn. At the heart of it, they stare at her. They beckon for her. 

Come join us. 

Come to us.

Lavellan we love you.

Ellana we need you… 

We will consume this world and the Dread Wolf will watch you suffer most of all. 

 

She awakens to soft kisses on her shoulder. Solas is peppering her back with kisses so light it feels like a gentle breeze on her back. She hums in response, her dream forgotten. The morning feels thick with sleep and warm light.

“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever witnessed,” he greets her. He runs his fingers along her skin, spelling out words she can only guess. 

Part of her feels like a traitor, a liar. Part of her thinks about cottages surrounded by fields of flowers. She feels selfish. She feels lovesick. 

“I want to go to Minrathous,” she replies. His words are a honeyed poison that she knows she will fall for again and again. She must leave this dream and find the answers for herself.

She has asked for her freedom before, but something feels different now. Like a crack has formed somewhere and she knows if she hits it hard enough, she can break it.

“Yes, I suspected you would want to,” he says as he still traces a finger along her back. “You will leave tomorrow with an entourage. I cannot go with you.”

“I didn’t ask for you to,” Lavellan says. She rolls over and he stares at her with warm eyes. They remind her of the first signs of winter. Of frosted mornings and warm fires. 

He laughs in response and says, “There was a time you asked for me to go everywhere with you.”

She has a choice whether to break this good mood they are in, this dream, or to play along. There were many battles ahead of her and she did not see a point in picking this one.

“You know what I could eat? Cinnamon bread,” she stretches, unashamed as the covers slip off of her. He reaches for her but she slaps his hand away with a coy smile. 

Yes, there were many battles ahead of her and she should find joy where she can. Even if it is the jaws of a wolf. 

 

She finishes saddling Majesty at the break of dawn as the birds begin to sing. The light is just starting to peek over the mountain and she marvels at the contrast between the dawn and the stars disappearing. It was her favorite time of day, full of possibility. Full of hope. 

Abelas and a few other elves have been chosen as her entourage. They sit stoic upon their harts, good little soldiers who would follow Fen’Harel to the ends of the world. They all wear vallaslin dedicated to Mythal, and Lavellan has a sinking feeling that there is a reason behind this. Something she missed. 

Solas has come to see them off, and he is fully dressed in what Lavellan has been referring to as his Fen’Harel mask- the leader, the liar. He is tenderly helping her pack, touching her any chance he can get. Maybe he thinks she will run off and never return to him. She has half the mind to do it. 

But she looks up and sees how soft his eyes are and she thinks that she would return to him time and time again because as her keeper would say, love is blind. Love makes fools of us all and how she wishes it weren’t true. She wishes they could just be together without his mistakes and her bad luck. 

He must see something in her face because he kisses her and it is sweet like victory. He does not care about his soldiers who have the grace not to look at them, save for Abelas whose brows furrow in annoyance.

She tries to memorize this feeling. This no-trust ever consuming love between them. How soft his lips are and the freckles that adorn his face. She hates him. She loves him. She needs to go.

“Abelas will guide you,” he is whispering into her ear as he draws her close. She nods against him because he told her this last night and again when they woke. He is filling the silence and she lets him because the reality of the situation is stifling.

“Ar lath ma,” he sighs into her hair. “Please return safely.”

“Don’t I always?” Lavellan jokes because she cannot say those words out loud to him just yet. Not when she is in her right mind. Not when the coals in her belly are still hot with anger.

He laughs and draws away from her. “I suppose you do.” 

She mounts and her entourage moves to follow her. They direct their harts to head down the mountain path toward the lake and she glances over her shoulder at him. 

“Goodbye, Solas,” she finally calls and he looks radiant as the sun illuminates him from behind, like the god that he is. 

 

They travel through several eluvians and ride for even more hours before the night sets in. Abelas demands to make camp and she is not one to argue, not when her thighs are on fire and the moon is hidden behind the clouds. 

The other three elves that travel with them dismount quickly and set up several tents before she can even unload Majesty completely. They are swift, efficient, and do not talk much. When she asked them their names, they told her to call them whatever she wished.

She does not like it. She does not like feeling like she is above anyone, that she is receiving special treatment because Solas loves her. It is strange and foreign because even as Inquisitor, the nobles called her rabbit behind cupped hands. In this moment she decides to break them of this distance between them. She will earn their friendship through her own graces alone.

“Do not mind them,” Abelas breaks her train of thought. He is already tending to a small fire which seems all the brighter on this dark night. “They are used to an era of gods and worship. They still see Fen’Harel as a being of another world. I do not think they understand.” 

“I thought he told you not to talk to me?” She is teasing him but he goes rigid.

“Yes, of course. My apologies-”

“I am joking, Abelas. Calm down,” she says, regretting the jest. She kneels down next to him and places her good hand on his arm and says, “I am not a god nor would I ever use his… power to do you harm. That is not me. You are my teacher and my friend.”

“Of course,” he repeats but there is a visible shift in his demeanor. He is no longer a bow string pulled taut and she is glad for it. But now she would be mindful of her jokes, at least until she can break him out of his shell a little more. At least until he fully believes her word. 

“I know that he is a scary god with scary god powers, but you just leave him to me. He can’t bully me,” Lavellan assures him as she moves to her tent. But underneath she is not sure. She remembers how willingly he threw her away. 

Was he a friend or a foe now? She cannot tell. Mask over mask over mask. She isn’t even sure if he knows who he truly is underneath it all and that is a terrifying thought. He may have lost himself in his sea of lies but it was not her job to be his harbor. 

Away from his keep and his soldiers and his lies, Lavellan decides that she will find out the truth for herself no matter the cost. Because his lies are dangerous and she has been fooled once. If only her heart could be on the same page. 

But staring up at the ceiling of her tent, Lavellan’s mind begins to drift towards her friends. How she had been so concerned that her friends were alright that she forgot the rest of the world. She forgot about the man who would make the journey to place flowers on the grave of his dead wife. Of the son concerned with his mother’s health. Of the chevalier who was exiled but still fought for his country.

She did not think of them at all. What had happened to them? Were they dead? More than likely. In her shame, Lavellan thinks that she is just the same as Solas. She is the same monster as he is, with only concern for a few and not the many. How long had she thought of herself as a hero when she was no better than the man she had been condemning in her heart. 

She, too, was a villain. 

She, too, had been selfish. 

Tears spring from her eyes and she vows to do better. She has to. She must.

 

Fear seizes her heart when they first encounter darkspawn. They are wild and dark things with mashing pointed teeth and black eyes. They snarl and spew and she had forgotten how loathsome a creature they are. 

But the fight is not long and if she was honest, easy. And refreshing. Her spells flew faster and hit much harder now and she felt powerful. Her travelling companions were equally as strong and their accuracy true. 

She rubs her fingers together, delighting in the way her magic sings between her palms. Her lightning seemed brighter and struck exactly where she had wanted it to. 

Was this what Solas was talking about when he spoke of magic? Was it this feeling? 

But he also spoke of the dangers of magic. The intoxication that corrupted the Evanuris, who wanted more and more and took and took. And enslaved their own and were driven mad with power.

Her joy dies immediately, doused like a fire under a waterfall. 

That would not be her. 

Never.


End file.
